Iíve always been a fairly health conscious person, but not a freak about it. I am now officially a freak. I blame the cancer book
I recently read. That, and birthing another human. I want to keep the boy healthy, you see. Here, in list form, how my freakdom has manifested:
1. Iíve thrown out all the noxious cleaning supplies in the apt for their green counterparts. If spraying multi-purpose Lysol makes me cough, it cannot be good for little baby lungs, correct?
2. Iíve ordered Theo a new sippy cup that is free of all those nasty plastic particles that leach onto milk.
3. Iíve also stopped buying baby food in plastic containers. Glass all the way.
4. Iím starting to give smokers death stares. Sure, itís into the backs of their heads, but still. Case in point: I was recently walking behind a smoker and her six- (or so) year-old daughter when I heard the little girl ask: ďMommy, why do you smoke so much?Ē The mom was silent.
5. Iím getting on the buy-organic train. Do we need milk and meat pumped full of hormones? Um, no.
6. Iím on an aspartame witch hunt. Itís not good. Real sugar!!
I didnít exactly provide Theo with enviable genes. My family tree is tangled with cancer and mental illness. (I tried to make up for it with my thin-without-a-lot-of-effort and doesnít-gray-too-early gene, though.) I know that genes are only a teeny slice of the will-you-get-cancer pieóand I know that one should not dwell on getting cancer. And I donít. I promise you. I do, however, want to give Theo the best possible shot of being a happy and healthy person. So I hereby embrace my new freakdom. In fact, Iím happy that it took this little guy (and a 477-page book) to kick me in the ass about finally paying some real attention to what we buy and eat and use and how it affects our health.
On a lighter note: baby toes and corduroys!